


Before the Fall

by Nightmare_Prince



Series: The Price for Our Sins [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anorexia, Bulimia, Cutting, Drabble Collection, Eating Disorder, F/M, Gen, Incest, Insanity, M/M, Masochism, Psychopathology & Sociopathy, Recreational Drug Use, Sadism, Torture, Werewolves, greyscale
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-05
Updated: 2016-09-22
Packaged: 2018-05-24 21:45:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6167779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nightmare_Prince/pseuds/Nightmare_Prince
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Our children were the price for our sins. [Prequel to The Broken Children]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Rose I

**Before the Fall**

_-Rose-_

" _The devil doesn't come to you with red thorns, a forked tail, and a pitchfork. No, she has blue eyes and red hair, and she'll rip out your heart before licking the blood of her fingers."_

_-Draco's Memoirs, The Price for our Sins_

**.o0o.**

She first realises that she's not like the other children when she's five years old and her cousin, Louis, comes screaming into the world. Her cousin cries, howls, and shrieks all the time, and it gives her headaches. There's a flicker of remembrance the moment she first hears the yells, because she's heard them before, coming from Lily, Roxanne, and Hugo.

She never cries though. For as long as she can remember, she's never shed a tear, so she fails to comprehend why the other children can't carry on in the same way.

In many ways, she thinks, she's always been the odd one out. People just don't seem to understand her . . . they think there's something wrong with her because she's always silent, content to be on her own.

The howling continues. How she hates these visits to the Burrow when the whole family is here. Albus isn't too bad – he understands her, or at least she thinks he does. The others are just little irritants, even the ones older than her.

That night, when the others are all asleep, she sneaks into her parents' room and picks up her mother's wand. She's tired, so tired, of the wretched sniffles coming from upstairs. So, padding along on bare feet, she climbs the stairs and slips into the room.

Aunt Fleur doesn't notice her at first. The older woman is more fixated with trying to soothe Louis, and Rose wonders why her aunt doesn't just do the obvious thing and silence the twit.

"Rose?"

Uncle Bill walks into the room, rubbing at his eyes. Aunt Fleur turns, startled, and then goes back to rocking the bundle in her arms, content that all is well. He looks at her, smiles, and says, "Louis keeping you awake, huh? It's OK. Fleur and I haven't probably won't sleep through the night till he's at Hogwarts."

So, Uncle Bill understands why it's so important that she quiet him down, doesn't he? It's good. It makes this so much easier.

"He just doesn't shut up! I thought I'd come up here and quiet him down."

Her uncle blinks, apparently shocked, and then seems to realise she's holding a wand. She smiles, and adds, "Don't worry, Uncle Bill. I'll quiet him down."

Before Bill can react, before he can move, she's aiming the wand at the blue bundle, the words leaving her lips. She remembers them from the time her mother lit the fireplace earlier that evening – she's sure she knows the words.

" _Incerindo_!"

There's a noise like thunder and a fizzling burst of orange sparks burst from the tip of the wand. The blast knocks her off her feet, and she feels the wand fall from her grasp, but she's more interested in the sight at the window.

Aunt Fleur's spun herself around, shielding the squalling child with her own body, and now she's screaming as loudly as her son. The sparks splatter across her back, leaving bloody blisters with blacked edges from neck to thigh.

"Fuck!" yells Uncle Bill, scrabbling for his own wand – he seems to have forgotten that the only thing he has on is a pair of pyjama pants – and then the doors comes crashing open. Uncle Harry is the first one in, instantly taking in the scene before rushing to Fleur.

As Aunt Audrey, the only Healer in the family, kneels beside her sister-in-law, Hermione simply stares at her daughter through eyes as wide as saucers.

.o0o.

" _Perhaps, we have only ourselves to blame. We could have killed her then, we could have locked her in Azkaban and thrown away the key._

_But, she was just a child, and was forgiven._

_How could we have known that by sparing her, the entire world would bleed?"_

_-Draco's Memoirs, The Price for our Sins_

.o0o.


	2. Hugo I

_“One of the hardest things in life is for us to kill the monsters within ourselves, those phantom creatures which whisper in our ears, without killing ourselves in the process._

_Too often, we grow to hurt ourselves in an attempt to stave off the beast within.”_

_-Draco’s Memoirs, The Price for our Sins_

.o0o.

It’s a sunny morning. Through the windows, he can see green leaves swaying in the summer breeze. Gentle waves ghost along the shores of the Black Lake, and he smiles. Something tells him today is going to be a good day.

“Hugo, you coming?” yells Damon. The other boy is waiting at the dormitory door, one eyebrow raised. It looks like Miles and Niko are already gone, both eager to enjoy their first Saturday without homework.

“Yeah, yeah,” he replies, grabbing his towel and wand. He thinks it’ll be a nice day for a swim – it’s steadily getting hotter as the sun reaches its apex, and the water looks deliciously cool. Easily falling into a steady stream of conversation with his roommate, the pair left Gryffindor Tower, ignoring the scowling Fat Lady behind them.

She’s been rather grumpy all week. He thinks it’s because she’s finally managed, with the help of Violet, to drink their way through every drop of painted alcohol in the castle. It’s a short walk to the lake, and it seems like most of the school seems to have had the same idea as the four of them.

“Took you two long enough,” calls Niko, easily distinguishable by his Greek accent, and waves them over to a spot under the old oak. He rolls his eyes – Damon and he can’t have been more than ten minutes behind them. Dropping his towel onto the pile of thing his friends have brought down with them, he asks,

“Well, are we going to sit here sunbathing or are we going swimming?”

“Sunbathing sounds promising,” says Francesca, and Hugo starts as he notices her for the first time. She winks at him and he blushes, cheeks burning as she adds, “You boys go ahead, I’ll mind your stuff and soak up the sun.”

“What are we waiting for, then?” yells Miles, energetic as always as he strips of his shirt and tears off towards the lake. Laughing, the other boys strip and follow suit, and Hugo thinks he’ll remember Francesca’s giggles till the day he dies.

He’s three-quarters of the way towards the lake when he hears a snicker, and pausing for only a minute, he hears a girl’s voice.

“What is he? Fifteen? Bloody hell, you’d think he’d have grown out of his baby-fat by now.”

Dismissing it, he leaps into the water, shrieking at how cold it is. He splashes at Miles, suddenly sucking in a breath as someone – he suspects Niko – grabs his ankle and dunks him. It’s fun, and he’s enjoying himself, but at the back of his mind he can still hear the girl’s voice as if it’s on repeat.

He finds himself looking at his friends. Damon is broad and muscled, the type of bloke who looks like he can lift Hugo off the ground without breaking a sweat. In contrast, there’s Niko, as lean as any guy who goes for a swim every morning at the crack of dawn. Miles is the closest to Hugo, but even the blond has a flat stomach and clearly defined pectorals.

Still, there’s nothing wrong with him, he notes at the end of the day as they trek back up to the castle. There’s a bit of a chill on the air now, and he can feel gooseflesh prickle up along his damp skin. He’s lost in his own thoughts, so when they reach the portrait hole, he’s unsurprised that he doesn’t have an inkling as to what the conversation is about.

“So, Hugo, what do you say to all this?” says Miles, clapping him on the shoulder. “Niko and Frannie huh – it’s those abs of his, gets the girls going for him _and_ makes the rest of us look bad, am I right?”

“Sure,” he chuckles weakly, even as Damon chimes, teasingly, that it’s not like any bird’s going to go after the Greek for his brains.

Again, he finds himself losing himself in his thoughts. He showers and dresses in a daze, nearly tripping down the stairs as he makes his way to the Great Hall for dinner. The sight of food, however, instantly perks him up, and his stomach lets out a loud grumble of agreement as he hurries to a free spot on the bench beside Damon.

The chicken tastes delicious, the mashed potatoes even better, and he feels stuffed to the brim by the time the dessert begins appearing. He thinks for a moment, wondering if he should skip tonight since he already feels so full, but then he sees that there’s treacle tart.

He loves treacle tart. His mother often jokes that getting in between Hugo and a slice of treacle tart is more dangerous than poking a dragon in the eye. She’s not wrong.

Hugo reaches for the serving knife, when he feels a chill run up his spine. Two delicate fingers fall upon his shoulder, and he shivers, even as he inhales the familiar scent of her perfume. Before he can react and slam his mental defences in, she slips into his mind and casually rifles through his thoughts.

He knows without looking that she’s smirking.

“Yes, Hugo, keep eating. It’s not like you’re fat or anything . . . or is it?” Rose simpers, blowing him a kiss before turning on her heel. “And do try and work on your Occlumency, little brother. You’re not even putting on a fight these days.”

Hugo’s hand shivers, and he looks at the slice of pie, then down at his stomach. He swallows, and sets it down. Maybe, for once, Rose has a point.

He thinks perhaps a diet is in order.

.o0o.

_“I’d never been able to see my bones before._

_I felt slim._

_I felt good.”_

_-The Diary of Hugo Weasley_

_(Recovered and published posthumously by Victoire Lupin)_


	3. Albus I

_-Albus-_

**.o0o.**

_“Everybody wants to change the world. It’s human nature._

_The problem is that the more we try to fix something that’s beyond repair, the more be break ourselves.”_

_-Draco’s Memoirs, The Price for our Sins_

.o0o.

It begins as all great movements do.

A meeting in a quiet pub, a young man with black hair and green eyes, and a small group of his peers focusing on his voice and his voice alone . . . it’s the first time the world sets their eyes on him cast in the role of the man who would be king.

(If his namesake had been present, he’d look back and realise that this is just another case of history repeating itself. The Knights of Walpurgis began in much the same way.)

It’s not that there seems to be anything wrong with the group’s ideals. There’s no talk of Pureblood supremacy, of Muggleborn genocide, or the subjugation and enslavement of Muggles. Instead, he speaks of peace and equality, of a world without prejudice and discrimination where a man gets what he earns and nothing more.

He tells them of his utopian dream, leaving out that it will take nightmares to achieve.

Voice ringing through the silent pub, he touches on the prejudices held against all Slytherins for their parents involvement in the last war. Flicking his wand, he conjures a chart, and goes on to explain how tax rates are rising and employment opportunities declining, and the strange system in which the rich grow richer and the poor grow poorer.

His audience is engrossed, sitting riveted in their seats whilst sipping at their Butterbeer. He can tell by the looks in their eyes that they agree, that they know their world needs a change, a change that can only be brought about by force.

(If his Aunt Hermione had been present, she’d say that the meaning behind his words held more meaning than the words themselves. She’d frown and note how eerily similar his speech is to the manuscripts left behind by Gellert Grindelwald, how reminiscent her nephew is to the Greater Good movement.)

The world as a whole is changing, it has been for centuries, and in a voice laden with scorn, he reminds them that the only world that is not embracing the future is the one they live in. Magic may make them powerful, but there’s been a sense of stagnation upon them for decades.

Albus Potter finally falls silent, looking at his enraptured throng, several of whom are members of his own family.

Lucy, eyes dead and listless as fresh pus oozes from the cracked and broken skin blossoming across her throat. Dark magic is all that keeps her alive, that keeps the Greyscale in check . . . she’ll be loyal to his cause if only for the sake of her own life. Her sister, Molly, nods along as she contemplates his words – he wonders about her motivations, but she seems interested. Roxanne will be an issue, she’s joining because of her love for the twins, Lysander and Lorcan, rather than out of loyalty to his cause.

He wonders if she’ll be a liability.

Louis is silent, but he has his reasons for joining. The boy is young, but unlike the rest of the family, Albus knows what his cousin and brother do behind closed doors. He knows that, unlike James who is content to live his love in the shadows, Louis seeks a world in which they can both be free.

Then he meets her eyes. She is the greatest and most devoted of his followers, and she nods. Cruelty becomes her, and he understands that she’s already worked out that in supporting him, she’ll have more than enough opportunities to inflict pain on those who stand in their way.

He smiles, and squeezes his lover’s hand. Cassiopeia responds in turn, running her free hand down his arm, and though her nod is miniscule, he knows that she is with him as she always has been. He can also see a sadness in her eyes, a glint of remorse deep within, and he understands. Her brother, his best friend, hasn’t answered the summons.

Scorpius has chosen his side, as have they all.

The world around them decays. He’s seen it in every cruel word thrown his way, in every bit of scorn and shrapnel of ire. Even his father, for all his protestations of equality and an end to prejudice, has looked at him differently since the day of his Sorting.

(If his father had been there, he’d say that it’s never been the Sorting Hat that’s caused the schism between the two of them to grow so wide. It’s never been the world turning against him that’s caused him to turn away from reason. It’s always been the fact that, for years, Albus has always craved power over others. He’s cunning, manipulative, and without remorse, and his cold interior has simply chilled the world around him to the point where he sees no warmth but that which he extends to the few people he still loves.)

“So I ask you,” he says, his voice loud and commanding. “Will you follow me? Or will you stand aside and watch the world burn?”

They kneel without hesitation, professing their loyalty to the cause, to him, and within days the word begins to spread. From the merpeople of the southern seas to the centaurs who roam the north, across the length and breadth of Britain, the whispers spread till the entire country echoes with the words.

“A new Dark Lord has risen, greater and more powerful than all who have come before.”

.o0o.

_“We could have intervened and put an end to this madness right then and there. We could have staved off the rebellion, the devastation, and prevented the Doom from ever laying claim to Britain._

_But how could we, who had already sacrificed so much, even contemplate taking up arms against our own children? As of yet, there was no proof as to their true intentions, and so we blinded ourselves until it was far too late._

_And even then, how was I to oppose them when my own daughter reigned as Albus’ Queen of Darkness.”_

_-Draco’s Memoirs, The Price for our Sins._


End file.
